


Scandalwood Tales: The Chase

by Anonymous



Series: Scandalwood: Tales of Dick Booping, PI [5]
Category: Fail_Fandomanon RPF
Genre: Boop noir, Detective Noir, Escape, M/M, Mutual Pining, On the Run, Private Investigators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-10
Updated: 2015-08-10
Packaged: 2018-04-13 22:32:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,295
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4539969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dick Booping gets entangled in Pink Whitecock's trouble with a client.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scandalwood Tales: The Chase

Booping knew that they would be betrayed in the end. It was just a matter of when and where and who. Dick shifted his gun from his left hand to his right. He took a deep breath, slamming his head against the door. He closed his eyes and listened carefully for the goons hunting them down.

Against all odds, they had bought themselves a few minutes of peace. A brief window of time to save their doomed and worthless lives. If they could.

Opening his eyes, he saw Whitecock worrying the bleeding wound on his arm. “Bandages are in the bathroom,” he grunted.

“Booping – are we safe?” Whitecock asked, covered in grime and blood from the firefight in the streets below.

“Maybe. Don’t know. I can’t hear anything.”

“But it’s a matter of time, isn’t it?” Whitecock snarled. He staggered to his feet, tore off his stained tie and vest, and headed to the bathroom.

It was started when a rattled Whitecock found him in his favorite bar nursing his nightly whiskey. Booping barely said a word before Whitecock grabbed his arm, hustled him out of the bar, and into an alley lit by a single street light. Whitecock shoved a hand over his mouth then rammed him against the wall. Booping’s mouth went dry and shivers ran down his back as Whitecock leaned close.

“Someone is trying to kill me,” he muttered.

Booping wilted. So he wasn’t going to be that lucky after all. “Why?” He was sure that Whitecock got death threats daily.

“It’s that client of Twigg’s who has in for me. Jack O’Something. I don’t remember exactly.”

Whitecock looked warily around the corner of the building. “We’ve have to get out of here. I shook the guy tailing me.”

Dragging Booping behind him, Whitecock hailed a cab. Once in the cab, Whitecock turned to Booping. “I have no idea where to go,” he confessed.

Booping rolled his eyes. He gave the address of his office to the cabbie. The cab lurched forward into the night as Whitecock craned around looking for an invisible enemy.

“Sit down,” Booping hissed. “If a hit man is after you, he isn’t going to stand in the middle of the street waving his gun around.”

At the office, Booping rummaged around for more bullets for his gun. Whitecock paced back and forth like a cat on a hot tin roof. Booping grimaced at Whitecock. He never expected him to collapse under the strain.

Whitecock stared out the window. Whipping around, he slapped the desk, startling Booping going through the drawers. “We have to get out of here.”

“After I get my bullets. And figure out where we’re going.”

“Now, Dick, now.”

He pushed Booping out of the office, tapping his foot as Booping locked the door. They raced down the stairs and out a back door. Booping had lots of escape routes.

The hiss of a bullet got his attention. “Down,” he said harshly, ducking and pulling Whitecock with him as he hit the filthy ground. He shot at the figure darting about in shadows of the street lights.

Whitecock cursed as the next bullet bit into his arm. A quick exam proved that the bullet grazed him, but left a deep cut in the arm. They scrambled out of the alley as fast as they could as shots rang out behind them. Booping couldn’t tell where the gunman was. He guided Whitecock through a maze of streets and alleys as fast as they could move.

“This was a bad idea,” Whitecock panted.

Booping tugged on a fire escape. “Up,” he said.

“Where are we?” Whitecock asked as Booping jimmied a window open.

“My place.”

Whitecock came back after bandaging his arm. He dropped into the worn armchair in the corner of the living room. “We’re fucked, you know.”

“I don’t know that,” Booping snapped. He ran a hand through sweat dampened hair. “We’ll make it out of this alive.”

“I -- I shouldn’t have gotten you involved.”

Booping studied Whitecock in his shirtsleeves, his bright blue eyes rimmed with red, biting his bottom lip. It wouldn’t take much to reach out and lift his chin to kiss him into oblivion. Remind him why they fought to stay alive.

“Dick, you’re –“ Whitecock licked his lips and sighed. “I never told you what –“

“Shush.” Booping heard heavy footsteps coming closer and closer. He readied his gun. He wasn’t going down without a fight.

Booping drew a deep breath. Whitecock or he was going to get out of this alive but not the both of them. He clicked the safety off his gun, waiting.

The heavy footsteps kept coming. They stopped.

The breath caught in Booping’s throat. Waiting. He looked over at Whitecock, who was finally pulling himself together.

Good. He could count on Whitecock when it mattered, when the chips were down, when they were up against the wall and no help in sight.

He was going to die. Everyone did. That was the way of things. You were born in pain, you lived with no money, bad luck, crappy jobs, faithless friends, rotten lovers, and then you died alone. And if you were lucky, if the universe gave you a break once in all your miserable worthless life, you might, just might, have a moment of paradise. When everything went your way and you basked in the light and joy of that moment.

This was Booping’s moment.

Whitecock stood up, reaching for his own gun tucked in a pocket. Blood caked in his blond hair, eyes rimmed in red and filled with anger, he gripped and aimed the gun at the door. “I’m ready,” he snarled.

He had never looked more beautiful to Booping than at that moment.

“I’m going to kill him, Dick. Get out of the way,” Whitecock growled.

Booping could hear a rustle on the other side of the door. “Pink –“

“I got us into this mess. I’ll get us out. Open that damn door.”

He nodded, spun to the side, and pulled the door open behind him. Whitecock’s gun blazed. Trapped behind the door, Booping heard a body drop to the floor.

Whitecock stepped cautiously into the hallway. “Clear,” he grunted.

Booping wriggled from behind the door. Whitecock was already going through the dead man’s pockets. “Anything?”

“No,” Whitecock said in disgust. He tossed the wallet aside. “No identification, only cash.” He rubbed his hands on his pants.

“A hit-man. But –“

“Not the end of it, Dick. Not at all.” Whitecock grabbed Booping’s arm. “We can’t stay here. Your neighbors will have called the police by now.”

“Where do we go?”

“My hotel. We can figure out something there.”

Booping looked directly in Whitecock’s eyes, but saw only the simmering anger. “I have to get a few things. We can leave through the window.”

+-+-+

Booping never lived in an apartment as big as Whitecock’s hotel suite. He felt lost in the clean lines of the modern design of the living room, not a sign of the grime of the crime-ridden streets below. He didn’t fit here in Whitecock’s world of money and luxury. He preferred the worn dingy comfort of his rented rooms.

Where he’d be right now if it wasn’t for Whitecock having a violent falling out with an unstable client.

“You can take a shower,” Whitecock suggested.

A shower. Dinner. A good stiff drink or two. All sounded good to Booping.

“I’ll get room service.”

“Wait, is that a good idea?” Booping asked. If Whitecock thought for one second that they were free of the hit-men, he was deluded.

“It’s a solution,” Whitecock conceded. “I don’t trust anyone either, Dick. But it’s room service or going out to a restaurant. No option is safe.”

Booping threw up his hands. “Fine. Whatever.”

In the shower, Booping gave into the simple pleasure of hot water running over his tired muscles. It had been a long long night since Whitecock yanked him out of the bar and into the alley. All he had planned on for the evening was a few drinks, not being shot at. And certainly not Whitecock shooting a hit-man dead outside his place.

He ran Whitecock’s comb through his hair and slung a large fluffy towel around his waist. He’d have to borrow clothes since his were dirty and blood splattered.

“Hey, I sent your clothes out to be cleaned,” Whitecock said, striding into the steamy bathroom.

“Oh, thanks.” Whitecock lived in a world Booping didn’t understand. Then Booping noticed Whitecock giving him a heated once over. He might have blushed once but he was long past that.

“It’s not a bad look on you, Dick.”

“Wet?”

Whitecock stepped closer to Dick, crowding him against the wall. “You know what I mean.” He tugged on the towel.

“This isn’t the time or the place.”

Whitecock lightly traced the scars on Booping’s chest, sending little sparks across his skin. Then he ran his hand down Booping’s muscled arm. “I’m very grateful to you for saving my life, Dick.” His breath ghosted on Booping’s neck as Whitecock’s warm hand settled heavily on his hip. “Don’t you want to take advantage of my gratitude?” he purred.

Booping took a deep breath, trying hard to ignore the desire pooling in his stomach and the weakness in his knees. He glanced up into Whitecock’s blue eyes and then down to his pink lips. “Yes,” he sighed, leaning in closer. The thought that he had no idea if they were still being hunting by Whitecock’s client inopportunely passed through his mind. He face-palmed. “Wait – no – I meant, we don’t have time for this, Pink. Seriously.”

“Come on,” Whitecock said seductively, his eyes raking over Booping nearly naked body. “We’ve danced around each other enough.”

“We can talk when I know we’re not going to get killed.”

Whitecock’s eyes narrowed. “You sure know how to kill the mood, Dick.”

They heard loud knocking on the suite door. “Room service?” Booping asked.

“Yeah. I’ll take care of it. There’s a bathrobe in my room.” Whitecock turned and Booping saw the gun shoved into the waistband of his pants.

“Smart, Pink.” He pointed to the gun.

Whitecock flashed a brilliant smile. “Not taking any more chances. Let’s eat.”

+-+-+

They had to make a break for it soon. Booping couldn’t stay holed up in Whitecock’s hotel room forever, with his back pressed against the door, waiting for the gunshot that would end it all. They had no other place to go. He should be glad that they both had lived three days longer than Booping though they would. But not if it meant sleeping in the same clothes on Whitecock’s floor for another night.

Whitecock was working the phone hard tracking down that miserable client who had taken the hit out on him. Booping studied the cool and collected Whitecock as he talked in whispers to yet another informant.

The memory of Whitecock’s hand on his arm and the look on his face as he leaned towards Booping burned in his mind. Another day of this and Booping was going to regret turning him down.

“Hey, I found him. Let’s go.”

“Fine,” Booping spat out as he scrambled to stand. He shoved his gun in the waistband of his pants.

Whitecock barely glanced at him as they took a cab to a fancy brownstone in a quiet neighborhood. Booping put his hand on the door, ready to get out.

But Whitecock pushed him back into the seat. “No, this is my problem,” he said firmly. “You wait here.”

He had no intention of staying in the cab and worrying about whether or not Whitecock was coming back out. He followed him into the brownstone having no idea what waited for them on the other side of the ornate wooden door.

Standing in the middle of a living room filled with mid-century furniture worth five times more than Booping and everything he had ever owned, Booping had the inkling that he was in over his head.

Booping knew that Whitecock moved in a world far different than his own. Booping had clients like the woman who hid tiny bits of money in her apartment to escape her abusive husband. Or the grandmother clutching all the money she had in the world in her purse hoping that Booping can find something, anything to show that her precious grandbaby didn’t kill that man. Or the guy working three jobs and barely making ends meet pleading with Booping to tell him that the best thing in his life wasn’t someone else’s wife.

Whitecock lived in the same world of greys that Booping did. Except Booping knew in his gut that Whitecock leaned more towards the black shadowy world of secrets, conspiracies and shifting alliances. And now Booping was snared like a rabbit in trap with Whitecock’s deal gone bad.

He felt like he was in a movie set with the perfect antiques, the carefully decorated walls and bookshelves, and the matching curtains and rugs. And that Whitecock was the perfect movie hero in his white shirt and black dress pants, his blonde hair styled, his gun in his hand, coolly confronting his client. The only sign that he wasn’t here for a party was a trickle of sweat on his left temple.

The client sneered at Whitecock, “You should be dead.” He whipped out his own gun.

“You should hire better help,” Whitecock answered.

Booping agreed. A man who looked like he could buy the entire city and have money left over for a yacht could have hired the best hitmen available.

“You shouldn’t have quit.”

“You shouldn’t have hired me then,” Whitecock said. “As soon I found that you were guilty of everything the district attorney charged you with, of course I quit.”

“You know too much.” The man launched himself out of his chair and towards Whitecock. Whitecock jumped in front of Booping.

Both men shot at the same time. The client fired off shots wildly, hitting only the walls. But Whitecock made a single clean shot, hitting the client right in the head and dropping him to the ground.

Booping knew this looked bad for Whitecock. “You should go – now. Before the cops get here.”

“They’re here already,” Whitecock stated. Booping heard sirens in the street and car doors slamming. “My informant might have set me up. Pity.”

He put his gun on the table and straightened his clothes. “Don’t worry about me. I have excellent lawyers.”

Booping was as cynical as the next private eye. So Whitecock could be right. He could be just as wrong though. Considering how he misjudged his client.

“Hey, Dick." Whitecock stood close to Booping, so close that he could smell Whitecock’s cologne mixed with gunpowder. “I wish you hadn’t turned me down at the hotel.”

“No, we were on the run. It would have been too risky.”

He swept his thumb over Booping’s lower lip. Booping closed his eyes and leaned into the brief electrifying touch. “You don’t have a romantic bone in your body, do you?”

Before Booping could answer, the police stormed the room. “I’m going to have to find out who put my informant up to this when I get out,” Whitecock snarled. They dragged Whitecock into the other room to question him.

Booping stared at his back guessing at how Whitecock answered his questions. An officer tugged on his sleeve. “Booping, they want to talk to you.”

“Sure,” he mumbled, finally turning away. And for once, it wasn’t Whitecock’s fault that Booping didn't know when he was going to see Whitecock again.

+-+-+

Booping slumped in his seat at the bar. A long hard week tracking down a missing person and the cash that they stole from his client wore him out. There was not enough whiskey in the world to make him forget the weariness deep in his bones.

He’d have to hit the pavement the next day for his next paycheck. Knocking back another shot, he wondered if he should head home. Or wait for the bleak morning light and make his way back to the emptiness of his rented rooms.

Life never promised anyone anything ever. Booping knew that you were born in blood and would die alone and any bright spot along the way was pure luck. He had long ago suspected that all his luck had been used up years ago.

He signaled to the bartender he needed another drink. The man didn’t ask questions from men who didn’t want to give answers. And Booping was there for one single reason – to get drunk to forget it all. The indifferent bartender slid the glass in front of Booping and moved onto the next customer.

Booping lifted the glass and blearily stared into the amber depths. The dingy dark bar filled with customers looking to get drunk or get lucky faded from his mind as he studied the mysteries of his ice cubes. And thought of Whitecock.

He hadn’t heard from Whitecock in the past six months. He heard from police officers and court staff who gossiped as much as the tabloid press. He knew the stories of Whitecock’s lawyers fighting dirty to save their client and of powerful people wanting to bury the whole messy sordid story. He knew about the so-called boyfriends who wailed to the tabloids about Whitecock and swore that they were going to stand by their man in prison. He knew it all.

He’d gotten a tip from a guy who knew a guy who knew a gal who worked for the DA that the charges against Whitecock would be dropped. Self-defense they’d call it. And the powerful people who ran the city could sleep better at night knowing that Whitecock wasn’t going to sell them out.

Booping downed his drink and tapped his glass to order another. He’d been a fool to believe Whitecock and put his life on the line for the man. He’d have to be more careful in the future. Fools didn’t live long in his line of business.

A warm hand clapped his shoulder. “Watch it, buddy,” he snarled, shaking the hand off violently.

“Dick?” Whitecock asked.

“Pink?” Startled, Booping looked up at Whitecock in jeans and layered t-shirts, like a damned tourist lost on the wrong side of town. But no tourist ever looked that gorgeous. Not to Booping at any rate.

“Come on. You want to sleep here?” Whitecock tugged at his sleeve and arm, trying to get him to his feet.

Stumbling and not sober at all, Booping let himself be led out of the bar and into the street. Whitecock stopped short and he slammed right into the man. Looking up at Whitecock, Booping noticed the bags under his eyes and the gauntness in his cheeks. But he was warm and glorious and not pushing Dick away.

He fell into the kiss. He didn’t realize at first Whitecock had pressed a quick kiss to his lips. When he figured it out, he leaned into Whitecock, pulling at him to drag him closer, letting Whitecock to slide his hands under his chin to deepen the kiss. The grumbling angry crowd surged around them, banging into them as they pushed past the two men lost in each other.

Under the harsh neon and the starless night sky, Whitecock was the most beautiful thing that Booping had ever seen. “You came back,” Booping said breathlessly.

“I came to say thank you, Dick,” Whitecock said. “I came to take you home.”

Booping only nodded as Whitecock hailed a cab. Whitecock squeezed his hand, reminding Booping that this was not a dream. Maybe, just maybe luck would break his way tonight and Whitecock would be there in the morning. He smiled and hopped into the cab with Whitecock.


End file.
